harrowing atonement, it’s blood, glistening and viscid, death as it drowns, then blanches sightless eyes. it’s sickness as it masticates at his lucidity, apparitions of cadavers invading his peripheries. he’s thrown it up, retching and panting, drenched in sweat, he’s sobbed until his body was racked with its misery, trembling until his world convulses. it’s always a smile, knowing, fond. he’s prayed that if he screams, wails until his throat is desiccated and his lungs heave that he’ll be forgiven, but his world is not that forgiving.

kazutora curls in on himself, it’s instinct, as if he’s recoiling. clammy fists clench, unclench, then tighter until skin reddens. he’s tried to numb it, inundate it with alcohol or a joint or two or three, blurring baji’s face until it’s nebulous but it doesn’t make it stop. when he can’t take it anymore, an indistinct voice murmuring to him he lurches forward, fingers sinking into decrepit plush. the old couch bleeds into his vision, soiled with ash, gashes of seared fabric where people would snub out their cigarettes an ugly black. he breathes, it’s shuddering, still feeling the echo of that vision at the edges of himself. someone stirs beside him, a familiar silhouette, his mind swarms for a moment but izumi slowly becomes tangible.  ❝ ..❞ he inhales sharply, offering an odd grin, weak and all teeth.  ❝ did i wake you izu ? ❞